


When The Day Hits You Hard Like A Stone

by Selly87



Series: Punishments & Pleasure [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Auror Harry Potter, BDSM, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Making Love, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, References to Depression, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, St Mungo's Hospital, Sub Draco Malfoy, Subdrop, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: What goes up will come down again. That’s the rule of physics.





	When The Day Hits You Hard Like A Stone

**Author's Note:**

> First up, this story is for the lovely ["Be_Kind_Untiltheveryend"](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_Kind_Untiltheveryend), who asked if I would consider to do a fic on _**sub drop**_ , which I kindly agreed to. Darling, I have no idea if this is what you wanted (or were looking for) but I hope it meets your expectations.
> 
> For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, _**sub drop**_ is a very real thing and it happens, not always and it doesn't have to be intense, but it happens. BDSM Wiki offers the following explanation, and I quote: " _Drop (sometimes called sub drop, dom drop and "The Mondays") is an experience with similar characteristics of depression that occurs after an intense SM scene. It is caused by adrenaline and endorphin crashes after the adrenaline and endorphin spikes that may occur during a scene._ " - this is a very basic explanation and if you'd like to read more check out this ["link"](http://bdsmwiki.info/Drop) for a list of symptoms and how to deal with it, there's also more for you to read over at ["Coffee & Kink Me"](https://coffeeandkink.me/2017/10/23/subdrop/).
> 
> Reading through it, I'm sure you agree, it's scary and frightening and you're probably asking yourself why anyone would ever want to go there, but honestly it's as simple as the laws of physics; what goes up, must come down. All it boils down to is aftercare, aftercare, aftercare. Any good Dom will know that and any sub who knows they are susceptible to experience sub drop after play will tell their Dom about it well in advance and will have arrangements made to effectively deal with it when it happens. Right, enough of my rambles, enjoy the story, it's actually pure fluff!
> 
> Once again, all thanks go to my _**Fairy Smut King**_ for dealing with my anxiety about getting this written, for researching with me and for writing something (that will probably remain unpublished forever) to help us both work through it and ready me for tackling something that simply needs to be tackled.

* * *

I reach out to take the coffee cup from the barista but instead of managing to grasp it properly, I let it sail right through my fingers. Not because I want to but because, well I don’t know—

I watch in slow-motion as it drops onto the counter; the lid flies off and the coffee splashes all over the place. I don’t even have the sense to jump back to avoid getting it all over my clothes.

_What is wrong with me?_

“S— Sorry,” I mutter and pull my shaking hand behind my back. I clench it into a fist and stare at the barista.

Her lips are moving and I’m sure she’s cursing the day I was born or at the very least the day she decided to take this job.

I can’t hear her. My ears are buzzing and I feel dizzy.

Suddenly, there’s an unbelievable rage inside of me. It starts in the pit of my stomach, bubbles up and spreads through every inch of me, extends right into the tips of my fingers and toes. I can practically feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I want to bare my teeth and growl.

_Fuck you, Harry Potter._

I don’t know why I’m blaming Harry for my spilt coffee, he isn’t even here—

_He’s not here._

The irritability I feel over my own clumsiness dissipates as quickly as it washed over me and is at once replaced with an intense feeling emptiness.

_He’s not here. Harry’s not here._

There’s a thick lump in my throat and turning on my heel, I push through a group of college students and practically flee the coffee shop.

Outside, I stop and force myself to take a deep breath.

It doesn’t make me feel any better. There isn’t anything that could make me feel any better. I feel miserable.

_What’s the point of life?_

I look down at my white dress shirt and it’s splattered with brown coffee stains.

_Sigh._

Tears prick my eyes and I blink furiously.

I want to cry, I want to cry, I need to cry.

I will not burst into tears in the middle of a busy London street. I will not.

I take another deep breath. My hands are still shaking. I clench them into fists again but it doesn’t stop them from trembling.

I feel tense. It seems every muscle in my body has suddenly decided to cramp up and I force myself to head back towards Diagon Alley.

I pull my cardigan tighter around me to cover up the stains on my shirt and take the opportunity to cross my arms in front of my chest. My hands are still shaking and I don’t have the energy to stop them.

I don’t have the energy to keep walking. Every step feels like a drain of resources I don’t have. I feel dizzy and lightheaded. I have a pounding headache I can’t explain.

_He’s not here. He’s not here. He’s not here._

The words resonate in my head and I feel an inexplicable anxiousness settle in the centre of my chest. It claws at my heart, forcing it to beat slower than it should.

I try to focus on my breathing but taking deep breaths and making sure I don’t walk off the pavement and right in front of one of those rolling Muggle contraptions is too much to handle. I try to remember what Harry calls them but I draw a blank and decide not to focus on anything at all.

I walk right past the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, curse under my breath, and turn around.

It takes me three attempts before I have the energy to push the door open and step inside.

_Why have they put in such a heavy door? Don’t they want customers?_

The dim light inside the pub confuses me and I momentarily can’t remember why I came here in the first place.

I look around and feel lost. I try to concentrate but my brain isn’t functioning the way it should. Nothing is functioning the way it should. I’m not functioning.

_I shouldn’t feel this way. What’s wrong with me?_

This isn’t the aftermath of last night’s insomnia.

_Am I coming down with something?_

I don’t feel hot like I have a fever but I do feel achy. And it’s not the good kind of achy.

The kind of pain I feel when Harry takes care of me, that’s wonderful and special and intense. What I feel now is a terrible kind of pain. A crampy kind of ache that just won’t go away. It’s nauseating and I want to throw up.

_Fuck, I need you, Harry._

I don’t know where I find the energy to make a mad dash to the bathrooms, but I do. I stumble into one of the stalls and forcing the toilet lid up, I lean forward and brace myself on the wall in front of me.

I retch. There’s nothing in my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t bring myself to have breakfast. I love food.

I retch again.

Nothing.

I try to breathe and focus. My head is spinning and exploding at the same time. I want to focus, I want to Apparate but I can’t grasp at a single thought for long enough to hold on to it.

“Harry,” I whisper.

My eyes fall closed and I feel myself slip and drop to the dirty floor. I lean back against the door of the stall, somehow force myself to stare at the wall in front of me and shove my wildly shaking hands between my thighs. I squeeze but the shaking doesn’t stop.

Instead, it travels up my arms and into my shoulders and before long my whole body is shaking. I feel sweaty and clammy and my heart is racing. My head continues to spin.

_He’s not here. He’s not here. He’s not here._

I fumble with my cardigan and somehow manage to wrap my fingers around my wand. I drop it and it takes me forever to pick it back up.

I try to focus, lose focus, and try again. It takes me more than five attempts before I manage to concentrate long enough to make the spell work.

_Harry._

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” I mumble and a silvery mist shoots out of the tip of my wand. I blink and my vision blurs.

It should be a dragon, not mist. Damn it!

Black dots dance in front of my eyes and it’s getting harder and harder to focus, to concentrate.

_Harry._

I pass out.

* * *

“Where is he? Where’s Draco Malfoy?” I demand breathlessly.

His weak Patronus led me to the Leaky Cauldron but by the time I got there, he was gone. Tom kindly informed me that he arranged for transport to St Mungo’s hospital and—

I stop myself from thinking and glare at the Welcome Witch behind the reception desk. She looks positively bored and not in the least interested in the urgency that my demeanour conveys.

I want to hex her.

“Fourth floor, Spell Damage,” she drawls and points her wand towards the ceiling.

I don’t bother thanking her, she doesn’t deserve it.

Instead, I dash through the entrance hall and up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with my scarlet Auror robes billowing behind me. I’ve not bothered taking them off.

I was in the middle of an unexpected duel, trying to take down a Dark Wizard when his Patronus appeared and conveyed Draco’s weak message to me.

Just one word.

_Harry._

The way he said it, it made me freeze. I very nearly took an Unforgivable to the chest but somehow, I had the sense to duck just in time.

Or maybe it was his Patronus that saved me from the Killing Curse?  
  
I’ll never know and I don’t care.

I am beyond frantic, which is completely unlike me, and somewhere between the third and fourth floor, I trip on my robes.

I stumble and fall and hit my knee on the corner of the top step. I curse loudly, slam my hand on the stone step and howl as the searing pain shoots from my knee up my thigh and down my calf.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

I force myself to take several calming breaths.

Deep inhale, slow exhale.

That’s what I always tell him to do, I should be able to follow my own rules.

It takes me a minute before I am calm enough to get to get back up.

My first attempt to continue climbing the stairs ends with my knee buckling and nearly giving in. I rub it, mumble a few obscenities, and force myself to forget the pain.

He needs me. I can ignore a small injury like that for him.

_Fuck, what is he doing in Spell Damage?_

He’s a Potions Master. He doesn’t cast any spells. He brews elixirs, tonics, draughts, tinctures, and antidotes. He makes potions, creams, pastes, and salves.

If at all, I would have expected to find him in Artefact Accidents, not Spell Damage.

Spell Damage. That’s where they send my guys. Aurors, Course-Breakers. Not Potions Masters.

I take another deep breath, force myself to ignore the pain and climb the last set of stairs, then burst through the doors of the ward.

“Harry Potter,” a mediwitch greets me enthusiastically.

I am not in the least bit interested in pleasantries.

“Where’s he?” I ask.

She understands.

Thank Merlin, there are still people with common sense in this world.

“Come,” she ushers me down the corridor and we stop in front of a door at the far end of the ward.

I instinctively reach for the doorknob but she stops me before I can turn it.

“He’s in bad shape, he won’t let anyone touch him,” she tells me.

“What happened?”

“The healers aren’t sure. They were only able to cast basic diagnostic spells before he came to again and had a frightening anxiety attack.”

I frown. “This does not sound like Spell Damage.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not. I mean I’m not a healer, but—” she pauses, clearly unsure how much she should tell me.

“What is it?” I push.

“He threatened to jump out of the window,” she whispers and for a moment I forget to breathe.

“Did he actually try? Or did he just threaten?”

“He just threatened. The healers left him alone to calm down and he’s been sitting in a corner of the room ever since. Keeps chanting your name.”

“Thank you,” I manage a smile, though I have no idea how. I certainly don’t feel like it.

_What happened, my love?_

“Are you OK to go in alone?” she wants to know and I nod.

“I’ll be fine. He wants me.”

_I can deal with whatever he throws at me._

“Good luck,” she says and withdrawing her hand, she lets me open the room.

I take a deep breath, step inside, and quietly close the door behind me.

“Draco?” I softly call out to him but he doesn’t react.

He sits in the corner with his knees pulled up tightly to his chest and his arms locked around them. I’ve never seen him look so small, so vulnerable, so hurt.

He doesn’t look like that when he submits to me when he surrenders all control and gives up his right to make decisions for himself.

He looks happy then.

All I see now is a ball of misery.

“Draco? My love?” I call out again and this time he slowly lifts his head and looks at me with watery eyes.

His face is blotched and tear-stained and his nose is snotty. There are coffee stains on his white dress shirt and dirt all over his cardigan and trousers. He’s in a state.

“Harry,” he whispers and extends a shaking hand.

_I’m here, my love, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of, you’re safe._

I rush across the room, crouch down, and pull him into my arms.

“I’m here, my love,” I whisper and a wretched sob escapes his throat. He buries his face in my chest and screams.

I rub his back and hold him tight.

“You weren’t there, you weren’t there, you weren’t there—” he sobs.

“I’m here now, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry,” I soothe him and continue to rub his back. “I’m here, my love, I’m here.”

He continues to sob and my heart breaks.

I know exactly what’s wrong with him. It’s happened before, but never ever this bad, never this intense.

This weekend he went under deep, this is him coming down, crashing down more likely.

_Fuck._

“Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please, Harry, make it stop,” he begs.  
  
“Shush, quiet now, my love, quiet, I’m here, I’ll look after you, I’ll make it stop, I promise,” I whisper and sitting on the floor I pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

I know I’m hurting him but I also know I’m doing the right thing.

He needs this.

_I’m here, my love, I’ll make it stop, I’ll take it all away._

He gradually quietens down. The sobs stop but he whimpers and whines.

“Everything hurts, my head hurts so much, my stomach won’t stop cramping, I’m achy and sad and hungry and sick and angry and tired and, and, and—” he tells me, growing more frantic as he tries to explain himself.

I hug him that little bit tighter.

“I know. It’ll stop, I promise. I’m here, I’ll make it go away, trust me,” I whisper.

_Did he sleep last night? Did he even eat? Did he hydrate?_

I want to berate myself for taking that last-minute Portkey to Paris to attend the _European Auror Summit_ but I don’t. I’m sensible enough to know that this would have happened either way.

He would have dropped, no matter what. Had I been there I might have caught it earlier, but it would have still happened. Maybe not as bad, but it would have happened. What goes up will come down again. That’s the rule of physics.

I suppress a sigh and remain seated on the floor. I want to take him home but to do that I’ll have to sign a bunch of release papers and to do _that_ I need to get up and leave him alone for five minutes.

This he won’t allow. There’s no way he’s going to let go of my robes any time soon. I am what he needs right now and he needs this to happen on his terms.

I give him all the love and comfort I can. I gradually lessen the intensity of my hug and comb my fingers through his hair instead.

He lifts his head and looks at me. There’s so much hopelessness in his eyes and so much sadness that my heart breaks all over again.

Merlin, he looks like a boy no older than twelve or thirteen at the most.

I smile and caress his cheek. He pushes into the touch.

_My sweet, sweet boy. I’ll take care of you._

I draw him in for a kiss. A gentle one, a tender, loving kiss.

He responds, moulds himself against me and kisses me with fervent enthusiasm. It’s dulled by the mental and physical pain he feels but it’s there and it’s strong.

I kiss him until he’s the one to slowly break away.

He’s breathless and his lips are red and slick with both his and my saliva. I run my thumb over his bottom lip and he kisses it.

“Harry,” he whispers.

“Yes, pet, I’m here,” I smile. “Let’s go home, my love.”

He panics immediately. His fingers twist into my robes and he scuttles closer.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. We’re going home together, come with me, I’ll take you home.”

“The cottage,” he whispers and I nod.

“Anywhere you want,” I tell him.

I get up, coax him to his feet and place my right arm around his waist. I pull his left arm around my shoulders and note that he’s not wearing any shoes. I frown but decide it doesn’t matter.

“Can you walk?” I want to know and he nods.

He’s wobbly on his feet and it takes us forever to make it to the mediwitches’ station. They are reluctant to let me sign him out and the healers want to run more tests, but I refuse. Repeatedly.

“I take full responsibility,” I tell them firmly but the healer still argues with me. I don’t take no for an answer. I know what he needs and it’s not a hospital. They can’t help him here.

Only I can.

I don’t tell them that. I don’t need them thinking I have delusions of grandeur.

“Mr Potter, please consider care—”

“He’s my husband and I say I’m taking him home,” I reiterate sharply and with a sigh, the healer signs the discharge papers and I sign at the bottom of the page.

We leave and I Apparate us out of the hospital the moment we get down to the entrance hall.

* * *

I curl into a tiny ball and wrap the fleece blanket even tighter around myself.

“I feel stupid,” I mumble weakly.

“Why?” he asks and tugs the edges of the blanket underneath me, making sure that my favourite blanket envelopes me completely. He gave it to me many years ago. I’m also hugging a Hippogriff teddy bear and ordinarily, I would feel stupid about that, but I don’t have the energy to decide what I want to feel and what I don’t.

I look at him and sigh. I don’t have an answer for him. He’s given me a pain-numbing potion of my own concoction and a Muggle muscle relaxant. I think he’s also added some vitamins and other goodies to the mix but I don’t care, not even a tiny bit. My body has finally stopped aching but my brain hurts. Thinking hurts. Making decisions hurts. Remembering things hurts.

“Open up,” he smiles and pushes a piece of my favourite chocolate into my mouth.

I chew slowly and sigh again.

The window is open and the warm rays of the sun are warming my back far more effectively than any warming charm ever will. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate it when Harry wraps me up in a warming charm. His warming charms feel like a blanket, they mould themselves around my body and it feels like a second layer of skin.

I swallow the chocolate and wriggle my nose. It itches and I sneeze.

He chuckles and I want to glare at him but I don’t have the energy for that. He’s on the bed beside me, lying on his side, propped up on his elbow and he’s full of smiles and warmth, full of laughter and stupid jokes, full of love and tenderness.

There’s no trace of the man who knows how to bring me to my knees and give voice to my deepest, darkest desires.

There’s no trace of the man who can make me obey his every command and submit, surrender, yield, acquiesce.

There’s no trace of the man who knows how to hurt me exactly how I need and want him to hurt me.

There’s no trace of the man who can take me apart and put me back together.

He is everything I need and want and more. He is my desire, my truth, my anchor, my passion, my thrill, my—

“Where did you go?” he asks and I snap out of my musings. “You had the dreamiest look on your face,” he chuckles and his fingers comb through my hair.

He leans close and his lips are so close I can feel and taste his breath. It’s sweet.

“I love you,” he whispers and before I can reciprocate, his lips are on mine and he kisses me.

He’s gentle yet possessive. It’s the perfect mix.

His tongue teases my lips and I part them just enough to invite him in. It dances around mine, teasing, stroking, caressing, tempting.

I moan and roll onto my back and stretch my limbs lazily.  
  
He moves on top of me and pulling away he braces himself on his arms and looks down at me. His eyes are dark with lust and desire and they spark something inside of me. An intense craving, the desperate need to be as close to him as possible.

A low whine escapes me.

“Need you,” I breathe and my stomach flips with excitement.

“Want you,” he answers and then his lips are back on mine and his hands tug at the blanket and push it out of the way. His nimble fingers undo my bathrobe and slide it out of the way, then his hands are on me, exploring every inch of me with the gentlest of touches.

I somehow manage to shrug the bathrobe off completely. I don’t know how.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, my love,” he promises and continues to kiss me.

I don’t remember how to breathe. My lungs burn and my chest aches and I want _more, more, more_. I need him more than I need air or water. He’s my everything, he completes me in absolutely every way.

He knows my body but it doesn’t stop him from tracing and retracing it, from kissing me top to bottom and bottom to top, front to back and back to front.

“Please,” I whine.

“Patience,” he replies and I inhale deeply. I’m naked underneath him. Naked and hard, so painfully hard.

“Don’t tease, please, I need you.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m loving you,” he smiles and takes off his t-shirt. Instead of throwing it away, he puts it on me and I inhale deeply. It’s warm and it smells like him.

He kisses me, works his hand between my thighs and his fingers ghost over my balls, tease my throbbing cock and eventually find my hole. They are slick with lube and I don’t know where he’s gotten it from or when and I don’t care.

His finger slides into me, effortlessly. He moves it in and out, repeatedly. It brushes that bundle of nerves deep inside me and I nearly leap off the bed.

“Please,” I beg.

His mouth is on my cock, his finger inside me. He rubs my prostate and sucks my cock. He swallows me deep and his finger moves faster.

I groan and my fingers try to find something to hold on to. I settle for his hair. He lets me.

_Harry. You’re here. You’re here. Harry._

I arch my back and oh—

“Please, I need you!”

He pulls off my cock, comes up to look at me and smiles. His finger leaves me and he pushes my legs further apart. He’s so gentle about it, so sweet, so loving and my heart his thumbing so wildly I think it’s going to burst out of my chest.

We don’t often make love like this.

It’s special and intense.

Sometimes more so than when we play.

Right now, it’s everything I need and everything he wants.

Only he can make me better. He holds the key to everything.

_Harry. You’re here._

He takes off the rest of his clothes, then pushes into me and I moan. The burn is intense and oh so good. I succumb to it. He takes me slowly, half an inch by half an inch.

It feels like forever has come and gone before he’s fully sheathed inside me.

I pant and twist my fingers into the bedsheet. The Hippogriff teddy is lying next to us. I glance at it and smile, he glances at it and chuckles. We don’t kick it off the bed.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he caresses every inch of me with his hands, kisses me slowly, deeply, teasingly, intensely.

I can’t think about anything other than what’s happening right now. Nothing else matters.

I don’t feel quite so weak anymore and the emptiness is gone. He’s kicked my anxiety right out the door and replaced it with anticipation. He’s replaced my restlessness with desire and my irritability with passion. I don’t feel tired and my brain doesn’t hurt anymore.

He lifts his head to look at me and those green eyes burn right through me and straight into my soul.

I gasp, pant, sigh, moan, groan, plead, beg, and want. I want so much and I want it all so badly.

He gives me everything. He moves slowly, gently, like I’m something fragile that will break, someone precious he needs to protect at all costs and someone beautiful he loves more than anything in this world.

This is how he feels about me. Always. Even when he demands absolute control and when he demands I surrender my heart, body, and soul. Even when he hurts me. Especially when he hurts me.

He takes forever. Showers me with kisses. Touches me so sweetly, so tenderly, so carefully.

I fall in love with him all over again. Every single part of him.

When I come, it’s not because he wants me to. It’s not because I’m allowed to or forced to. It’s because I want to. It’s because I let go. He doesn’t expect me to ask.

When he comes, it prolongs my orgasm. He comes undone inside me and it’s a precious gift, one I’ll cherish forever.

Afterwards, he wraps me into his arms and holds me tight. I curl into his embrace.

“Until the stars burn out,” I whisper.

“And all the seas dry up,” he replies.

Our wedding vows.

I fall asleep to the frantic beating of his heart and don’t stir until the next morning when he wakes me up with breakfast in bed, which he feds to me bite by bite and kiss by kiss.

I still feel a bit shaky and there’s a twang of persistent sadness that lingers in some dark corner of my mind but the hopelessness is all gone and I’m not irritable or restless anymore.

My appetite is back with a vengeance and he makes a bunch of silly jokes about it until I throw a slice of orange at him. He growls and dips three fingers into the jar of my favourite Manuka honey, then covers my face with it. I retaliate with a slice of buttered toast that I press into his face and he bites my fingers, then takes the honey jar and pours it all over my head. It sticks to my hair and runs down my face and I yelp and pant and he kisses me hard and possessively. My half-finished orange juice finds its way into his hair a handful of egg lands on my chest and eventually in my lap.

We playfight like kids and by the time we stop the bed is a mess, the room is a mess and we are a mess.

I drag him into the shower and we clean up, then he pushes me against the tiles, lifts me up and sinks into me while I wrap my arms and legs around him. I let him make love to me while the running water of the shower drowns our groans and washes away any evidence of our orgasms.

We spent the day by the shore, walking, eating, chasing each other, laughing, playfighting and making love in a hidden alcove in the dunes. When he takes me home in the evening I’m right as rain.

Next week I’ll be back on my knees, surrendering every part of my soul to him, giving him free rein over my body and control over everything.

_Harry. You are here._


End file.
